


Sucker For Love

by LinedItem



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, First Kiss, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinedItem/pseuds/LinedItem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yeah, yeah, you're handsome," Misha huffs, rolling his eyes. "I mean sure, I'd suck your dick."</p><p>At that, Jensen's beer goes down the wrong pipe and Jared has to whack him on the back a couple of times before he can get his breath back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's implicit in this story that both Misha and Jensen have "kitchen passes" to fool around and their wives are cool with it. 
> 
> (What happens in Canadian Hollywood stays in Canadian Hollywood. Or Rome. Or wherever!)

They're having dinner on a Monday night, at that place Misha likes because there are some private corners where nobody will notice them; the view of English Bay's too arresting, and no one's seated near them, in any case.

No patrons pick them out, but their server does. "I just love you guys on Supernatural," she says quickly as she transfers a plate from the crook of her elbow to the table with a nervous grin. "Especially, um, Dean."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Jensen tells her, and offers his best smile and a wink in return, which the table apparently doesn't miss as she backs away, a little flustered.

"You're so _dreamy_ , Jensen," Jared says mock-fawningly once she's far out of earshot. 

Jensen sips his beer, laughing. "Shut up, dude."

"Yeah, yeah, you know you're handsome," Misha huffs, rolling his eyes and dropping his voice to its lowest register and damned near a mumble, he adds, "I mean sure, _I'd_ suck your dick."

At that, Jensen's beer goes down the wrong pipe and Jared has to whack him on the back a couple of times before he can get his breath back. 

Then Mish is digging into a quinoa salad, Jared's got his Angus burger, and Jensen turns his attention to spaghettini with prawns. Sort of the opposite of what their characters would have chosen, Jared points out, and Misha pretends to switch the plates. After that, the server comes back, talks Misha into a rum drink called a Brazilian and they start in on wax jobs and vajazzling and hey, they're just three guys talking about pussy at that point, right?

Right.

Thing is, they all joke constantly, but Jensen watches Misha chase the last drop of his drink out of the martini-style glass with the tip of his tongue, his dick reacts, and he can't help wondering if maybe Misha wasn't kidding around. And worse (better?) when he's back in his apartment packing it in for an early night, he takes the edge off with his hand, his mind goes there. He can't help imagining Misha hovering over him in bed, and when he slicks wet fingers down his shaft faster at the thought, he comes hard and it's almost a surprise. Clumsily, he blows all up the inside of his wrist.

"What are you, 15?" Jensen grumbles to himself as he scrubs the come away with a tissue. "Dammit."

+++++

Jensen's forgotten about it the next day on set, until after lunch when Misha shows up for blocking and a run-through before they shoot. Castiel's rusty voice is hell on Misha's throat, so he always has lozenges -- clear ones, so they don't stain his tongue red or blue or whatever weird color mentholated cough drops come in. But today, he's got a fucking lollipop, and Jensen can't miss the way his cheeks hollow when he takes a pull on the thing. He remembers what Misha said under his breath at the table, and he's suddenly hard as hell. Jensen pulls at his green Army surplus jacket and subtly adjusts himself, and he swears, _swears_ , Misha notices. He's ready for him to say something, but he just...doesn't. 

Jensen gets through the scene prep and wills his junk down, and they shoot and wrap.

"Hey," Misha says afterward, wrapping a warm hand around the curve of Jensen's shoulder. "I'm making shawarma tonight at mine; want to come over?" 

Jensen agrees to that, and Misha disappears back to his trailer. 

+++++

Misha’s wearing a yellow apron, grabbing one of the many knives clinging to the magnetized rack on the wall. It’s kind of awesome to be done for the day; Jensen had early morning scenes with lots of action with a guest star, he and Misha had the afternoon stuff, and Jared and Mark are the ones stuck on set for a late shoot.

When Misha had offered, Jensen had jumped at the chance to eat something besides craft offerings or trailer tacos or late-night takeout or even another restaurant. These are all fine, and it’s not that he can’t cook something himself, but he doesn’t really bother with anything more elaborate than a sandwich if it’s just him alone at his own place.

Jensen helps with whatever he’s handed: shredding cucumber into a bowl with a cheese grater, chopping up coriander, squeezing both halves of a lemon. He’s likely more of an obstacle than a helper; he and Misha keep bumping elbows -- though it’s clear that Misha knows his way around a recipe, he’s not that organized in terms of when he needs one thing or the other.

“Am I getting in the way of your flow?” Jensen laughs when Misha shoulders him aside to grab a tub of yogurt.

“No!” Misha insists, patting his arm. “A stream flows _around_ the boulders.”

“Good.” Jensen bites into a sliver of cucumber. “I’d hate to be responsible for fucking up your...chi or whatever.”

“You could never fuck up my chi, good-lookin',” Misha assures him with a smile and a nudge to his ribs with a thumb, and Jensen warms. Misha is a bullshitter most of the time, but it’s easy to tell when he’s being sincere. 

 

Dinner’s on the coffee table, they’re watching the episode in 25 minutes, and Misha’s going to tweet a little. “You ever getting a twitter?”

“Nope.” The CW has actually asked if he'd do it to help promote the show, but Jensen’s maintained a polite fiction that he’s ignorant about how to use social media; he has a Reddit login and uses it to talk smack about football and comment on people’s embarrassing moments and terrible jokes, even though he gives r/supernatural a wide berth. The lure of the internet for Jensen is the fact that you _can_ be an anonymous average Joe on it, and not get attention just because you sometimes do in real life. He gets enough adulation at conventions and from strangers on the street and random waitresses, thank you very much, and he’s not sure why anyone would want to be on Twitter and talk about football or whatever, publicity commitments aside. Well, Jared does that, but he can just talk about football with Jared in person. 

“Want me to say you’re here watching the episode?” Misha asks, poking at his phone.

Jensen shakes his head. He wouldn’t mind generally, but he’d rather keep this time with Misha to himself, for some reason he can’t actually put into words. It’s private. It’s...his, he supposes.

Misha nods and types something about underwear models then saves it for later, before the show.

“What’s the story with that?” Jensen nudges Misha with an elbow and picks up a pita stuffed with lamb and spices as ESPN plays silently on the screen.

“The show’s premise. The St. Elsewhere ending will be Dean and Sam waking up on the floor of an LA party house after a bad trip. “Dean’ll say, ‘Sam. Sam! We like, fought vampires and demons!’ and Sam will tell you that he became Elvis or something, in his dream.”

“What about Castiel?” Jensen laughs.

“Angels aren’t real,” Misha replies gravely, untying the apron and depositing it on the table in a wadded ball. 

“Yeah, Mish, I know, but-”

“As the story goes, Jimmy Novak is Dean’s actual tax accountant. He found extra writeoffs for the underwear he models and Dean called him an angel before the party.”

Jensen takes another bite, and swallows. “You’re so…”

“Odd. Right.” Misha prompts, grinning.”I get that a lot.”

“No. Creative.” 

“But you actually mean ‘odd’.” 

“Sure,” Jensen rolls his eyes (God, take a compliment, Mish) then talks though his next bite of food. “This is really good.”

“Subject-changer,” Misha lifts a brow and eats. 

+++++

After clearing plates and distributing fresh beers, Misha slides to the floor, one leg folded, the other stretched out under the coffee table, and leans against the sofa and Jensen's right knee. 

Which he tries to ignore, but the warmth and pressure is so nice, there.

He studies Misha's profile as he comments on the show and drops his head periodically to tweet, or twit or whatever. It's nearly perfect; Mish is really attractive. He looks good onscreen with those icy eyes and dark hair, but the off-the-rack suit and shapeless trench coat don't do his runner's body any favors; he's all wrapped-up and hidden most of the time. Misha stretches, flexes his shoulder against Jensen's leg, and Jensen shivers. 

"You cold?" Misha asks, big blue concerned eyes looking up at him, and Jensen's memory helpfully picks that moment to remind him of _"I'd suck your dick,"_ and he has to take a quick drink of his beer because he's shitty at schooling his face to hide what he's thinking. Well, shitty for an actor. 

"Uh, no, I'm good," he replies finally, but Misha's already dragging a folded throw from the other end of the sofa over and plopping it over his lap, and Jensen is immediately grateful he has a way to hide the way his junk's waking up. "Thanks, Mish."

"Mmmhmm." Misha's left arm slides over his thigh and he's using Jensen as a support then, tweeting away. 

Jensen's having a hard time paying attention to the show, but he saw the dailies earlier, so no big deal. He's watching Misha instead, the flutter of his dark lashes and his wry grins at replies from fans and co-stars, which he reads out loud. Misha puts the phone down on the table towards the end of the hour, hooking his arm over Jensen's knee and facing the TV for the last part. Jensen's thinking about how soft his hair looks, and how he wants to twist his fingers through it, and when Misha sighs and stretches, he realizes that he's doing just that.

He's stroking Misha's hair. 

This ought to seem situationally strange, but it's not strange at all, just nice. Comfortable. And Misha clearly doesn't mind, because he's pushing back into his hand, catlike, eyes closed. Jensen lifts his hand away anyhow, and Misha makes a frustrated sound. "Don't _stop_ ," he says.

Jensen laughs. "Okay." He drags his fingers through silky strands, then scratches at the nape of Misha's neck and is rewarded with a throaty groan. 

"Feels good," Misha says, and though Jensen's still hard, his thoughts aren't running to having his cock sucked. No, he thinks he wants to kiss Misha. It's both surprising and not surprising at all. Why wouldn't he want to kiss Misha?

"Get up here," he says after a long moment, and Misha turns and pulls himself up onto the sofa, shouldering into Jensen's space, and presses his lips to Jensen's first. 

He's glad they're on the same page, here. Misha tucks a hand into Jensen's hair, and slides the other around his side, thumb playing idly along his ribcage as they deepen the kiss. A pull back, a few gentle pecks follow, and Jensen's staring into midsummer-blue eyes. Without a word, they rearrange themselves, Jensen backing into the corner of the sofa with a leg along the back, Misha stretched out beside him, and fuck, they're making out like it's high school.

"Wow," Misha says, catching his breath after minutes pass. "Why," another kiss, another breath, "didn't we do this sooner?" And Jensen's not sure if he means earlier in the evening or five years ago, but it doesn't seem to matter when Misha traces the tip of his tongue along the corner of Jensen's mouth and trails kisses along his jawline and down his neck as he runs his own hands up and down Misha's back. His fingertips find the edge of his light blue tee, and Misha sighs into Jensen's collarbone. "Yeah," he says, and that's all Jensen needs. He's not in a rush, really, but he wants to see, to touch more of Misha, and when he pulls at the fabric Misha leans up and raises his arms. He overbalances oddly when Jensen pulls off his shirt, and he has to grab at Misha to keep him on the sofa, crushing him against his own chest.

"Alligators'll get me if I hit the floor," Misha mumbles."Did you play that game, as a kid?"

Jensen presses a kiss to his brow.

"...touch the ground, they'll get you."

Jensen stops him talking, prising his lips open with his own, running his hands along the muscles of Misha's back, but he backs off slightly, drops his head to focus on Jensen's shirt buttons from the bottom up. 

"You're gonna fall off the sofa," Jensen warns, "Alligators." and Misha's darkened eyes meet his.

"Bedroom."

And that seems to drag this moment into "serious" somehow, moving to another room with intent. It's premeditation, versus falling onto Misha's face, which Jensen has clearly, happily done right here in the living room.

"It's okay. We don't have to, if you..." Misha adds, waving a hand in absolution, but Jensen captures it.

"No. I mean, no. Yeah. Let's go." He's still holding Misha's hand as they get to their feet, and Jensen follows him into his bedroom. The sheets are blue-and-white striped, the comforter folded over neatly is bright plum, and Misha's stripping. He's down to Superman briefs and a smile and sitting at the foot of the bed, pulling Jensen to him by his beltloops, nosing under the half-rucked front edge of his dark blue button-down, and letting his fingers finish the task. Misha leans up and pulls the shirt off of Jensen's shoulders and halfway down his arms, planting a firm kiss on his chest before moving down to Jensen's belt buckle.

Things are moving awfully fast, but he's got his hands in Misha's hair again, and Misha has his fingers in Jensen's fly, and then his jeans are pushed down far enough and Misha has Jensen's cock in his mouth, and that's, goddamn. That's heavenly, is what that is. Jensen throws his head back and laughs, because of heaven and angels and a couple of beers and fuck, this is even better than it was in his fantasy.

Misha smiles, and yanks him off-balance, pulling him down on the bed and dragging a leg over his, leaning over, going to work on him again, and it doesn't take long before Jensen's cursing and pushing at Misha's shoulder to let him know he's right at the edge, but Misha's eyes flutter shut and he mouths Jensen's cock with intention and with a gasp he's coming and Misha is swallowing and hot damn, it's perfect.

"Mish," Jensen manages, a palm wrapped around the side of Misha's face. Misha turns his head and kisses Jensen's wrist before easing his way up the bed to nestle against his chest. "So good," Jensen says, spent, aware of Misha's hard-on pressing into his hip and the fact that he wants to get his hands under those briefs and make Misha come as hard as he has.


	2. Chapter 2

But first, he needs to recover for a few minutes; Jensen's coming down from what was some truly sublime head. He opens his eyes and Misha's alongside him on the bed, resting on his elbows, with rumpled hair that Jensen realizes is entirely his fault; he might have been pulling it, just a little. Or a lot.

"You okay?" Misha asks, and Jensen nods, dazed.

"Yeah."

"Maybe I should've..." Misha drops his gaze, plays with the edge of the sheet. "...uh, maybe asked if you've messed around with a guy before. You have, right?"

Jensen breathes, in-and-out, deeply, slowly, and shakes his head. "Never. First time."

"Oh. Fuck, first time. Okay. You need a nap? A moment for a quick gay panic? Some Ben & Jerry's? I know I have ice cream in the freez-"

"No, I'm...I'm good." He eyes Misha, feeling a smile rise. It's true. "Really, really good," he says, before he leans up and pulls that talented mouth towards his.

They kiss for a while, languid and gentle, and Jensen doesn't mind that he can taste himself, bitter on Misha's lips, just a little. 

They turn on the bed, and Jensen can feel Misha's hard-on pressing into the side of his hip. He reaches down, pushing at the briefs until Misha gets frustrated and yanks them off. Jensen grips him, an experimental hold, and it feels...you know, like a dick. Like his dick, actually. It's not foreign or intimidating, and the way Misha's breath catches at his touch is incredibly hot. He shifts to move downward, but Misha's hands on his shoulders still him.

"You don't have to reciprocate, you know."

"I know."

"I mean, I realize my massive girth can be intimidating to blowjob virgins," Misha adds semi-seriously, before dissolving into a laugh, and Jensen realizes that Misha's giving him an out. It's one thing having your cock sucked, but another to go down on another guy, and maybe he remembers the first time he did it himself, or something. 

"Shut up, Mish." Jensen trails a finger over the leaking top of Misha's very nicely-formed, pleasantly average-sized dick, then palms the length again and gives it a few experimental strokes, the kind he likes himself, and is rewarded with a responsive groan and Misha swallowing his tongue enthusiastically.

Yeah, this is good. It's just a hand job, nothing fancy, but Jensen nails it, according to the sounds Misha makes.

When they're both cleaned up, Misha collapses next to him again on the bed. Jensen's not sure what happens now; does he go home? Stay here? Misha turns and curls around him then, and Jensen does a little mental math (he'd been wearing those clothes he'd had on for what, four hours? He can wear them to the set in the AM) before he rubs a hand over his friend's firm, tanned thigh and decides to stay right where he is.

 

+++++

Jensen wasn't lying; he hasn't been to bed with a guy before. He's had offers, of course; he'd spent his early days in Hollywood working on a soap, and had fielded offers from everyone from co-stars on the make to skeevy producers 30 years his senior. He's occasionally thought about taking a few of the sincere ones, though, but had always backed out before it went that far. For one thing, he hates risking gossip, and there's always gossip around faces that are prettier than they are rugged. For another, he notices guys the same as women, in an abstract "oh, attractive" kind of way but statistics aside, he isn't picturing strangers naked every 30 seconds. Well, that's probably because he isn't 18 anymore. 

Plus, he's always been...something. Tentative isn't it; maybe it's patient. Hell, he'd known Danneel for years, and they were close friends before anything physical had happened between them. 

He rises first and leaves the cozy bed reluctantly for a shower, then toasts a bagel and eats while Misha gets ready, and when he comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist and dripping hair, Jensen lets him know he's got a 9am call. "Okay," Misha says, and grins, but doesn't kiss him, even though he's close enough to do that. Jensen drops a hand to Misha's shoulder instead, and gives it a squeeze. 

"See you at the coal mine," he says, and Misha winks at him over his bagel half.

 

Jensen's positive there's no way things won't be weird today, but they're really not. Yeah, okay, he gets a boner as they work on a scene with heavy dialogue, but it goes unnoticed and they wrap it with fewer takes than usual despite Jared clowning on Misha's coverage, but Mish rolls with it; Jensen can tell when he gets too fed up, but this is lighthearted and fun. They break for lunch and Misha suggests Salvadoran, but Jensen has a "urgent, call me" text from his agent about voicing another video game, some sort of adventure quest thing, so he demurs without explaining. He thinks he catches a flash of disappointment cross Misha's face, but he shoots him a smile and heads back to his trailer, and Jared and Misha trudge towards the truck.

He doesn't see Misha for the rest of the day. He's got stuff with Mark and Jared and by the time they're finished, it's after seven. Tomorrow's a late start day because they've got night scenes, so in theory, he can go out or stay up late. Jensen drives home and turns on basketball, but it's the Bulls, he really doesn't care, and it's just background noise. He's restless, though. He's got his lines down for tomorrow (few...it's mostly action and that's blocked-out already). He'd skype with Danneel, but she's in Louisiana visiting her folks, and doing some girly trip thing for most of the week. His fingers wrap around his phone and he makes a call and taps out a message and 30 minutes later there's a knock at the door. It's the Chinese food, and the steamy boxes are still hot on the granite countertop when there's another knock and it's Misha, responding to his request to come by.

"Mish, there's food," he says, waving a hand towards the kitchen, because he's invited Misha for dinner and "hanging out," but Misha pauses in the hallway after the door shuts behind him and catches the edge of Jensen's untucked shirt.

"Hey," he whispers, and Jensen eases back a step and into warm hands wrapping around his waist.

"Hey," Jensen murmurs back, and leans forward into the kiss he realizes he's been aching for all day.

The food sits on the counter for several hours, untouched.


End file.
